


Beware of Wolf

by uumuu



Series: Fëanorians beyond the First Age (AUs) [14]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, No Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 14:10:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15463131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: After the War of Wrath Celebrimbor meets his family again (unexpectedly, but not by chance).





	Beware of Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Despite the timeline this is a non-angsty, somewhat crackish story and it could fill one of my FFB squares (not sure which one yet).

“Uncles,” said Celebrimbor, with what little breath he had left after his long trek up and down two hills and across a river. 

“Nephew,” Maedhros greeted, with a smile not at all appropriate to the situation. “It's been a long time.”

He held his arms out in the shape of a hug.

Celebrimbor pointedly crossed his own arms over his chest. “Fancy meeting you here, so close to the camp of the Valar. How did you do it?”

“How did we do what?”

“I'm not dumb, Uncle Nelyafinwë,” Celebrimbor uttered the name with prickly slowness. “How did you get into the camp of the Valar without being seen?”

“We didn't.”

“Liar.”

“None of us _walked_ into the camp the Valar.”

“Ah, so you flew?”

“Well, as it happens, yes,” Amras responded in his big brother's stead, a hint of irritation seeping through his shamelessly smug expression.

Celebrimbor raised both eyebrows. He wouldn't have expected his thrice-kinslaying uncles to be in such high spirits and to make fun of him after meeting him for the first time in nearly a century while Beleriand collapsed onto itself. He had half a mind to give up on getting his necklace back from the magpie which had stolen it and return to the very same camp of the Valar where he had been residing while Eönwë sorted out matters with the Exiles. 

The host had been basking in their victory, only to have the Silmarils stolen from under their very nose with no-one having the least clue as to how that happened. One moment the Silmarils were there and the next their peerless radiance was gone. Eönwë suspected Morgoth's surviving maiar had had a hand in it, and had sent them all on to Valinor to ensure they would do no more mischief, but to everybody else it was obvious that the sons of Fëanor must be the culprits – somehow. 

The magpie was perched on a linden tree, right behind the twins.

Amras darted a cheeky glance at it. “I suppose they will suspect you did it now, seeing as you suddenly took off from the camp.” 

“Nonsense.”

“It's the only reasonable explanation, isn't it?”

“To you, maybe,” Celebrimbor said, hoping to sound firm, though it was impossible not to see the truth of his uncle's assertion.

Seeing as he would get nowhere by talking, he took a step forward, and a sharp pain shot through his leg. He looked down. A black cat stared back at him, mottled grey eyes meeting his in evident disapproval. The cat stood on its back paws and hung onto his thighs with his front paws, while attempting at the same time to sink his teeth into his flesh.

“What is with this cat!” 

A second black cat slunk forward from behind Maedhros's legs, gently caught the other's tail between his teeth and as gently pulled him away. 

“Shall we really tell him?” Maedhros said, turning towards his brothers.

Maglor shrugged. The twins nodded, gazing at Celebrimbor with avid expectation.

“Tell me what?” Celebrimbor burst out, at the end of his patience. There were holes in his trousers, and tiny red stains made it plain that the cat had drawn blood.

Maedhros bit the corner of his mouth in a childish expression of anticipation Celebrimbor hadn't seen him display in centuries. 

“Well...that cat,” Maedhros pointed to the first cat, “...is your father.”

Celebrimbor's mind went blank. His uncles might be in the mood for jokes but he'd never have thought they'd take their teasing _that_ far.

“My father,” he repeated in a dead tone. 

“It's a long story...but well, we were all gifted with the ability to change into animal form at will, to different degrees – we brothers and Father. We never told you, because well...it never seemed absolutely necessary to, and it's an extraordinary thing to believe.”

“You don't say.” 

“Grandfather Finwë didn't know for a long time either, if that may make you feel better. It was...out of place in Valinor, and we thought it might cause you more puzzlement than it was worth here in Beleriand.”

“Puzzlement?” Celebrimbor looked from the cat who had clawed him to the other. If the first one was his father, the second, identical one must be his grandfather. “You claim grandfather was with you...with _us_ all this time, and all you could think of was that it might have been beyond my ability to understand how?”

Maedhros made an evasive gesture with his hand. “Things were harsh. I haven't been able to transform at all after Angband, and only Turco can still do it at will even after the death of his elven body. Part of the reason why we led you here is to tell you.”

Celebrimbor squinted at the magpie. 

“Yes, that's Turco.”

Celegorm flew over to him and dropped the necklace into his hands, then smoothly changed into a squirrel and settled on Celebrimbor's shoulder, thereby ensuring that Celebrimbor would not have the heart to chase him away even if he had wanted to. At the same time a raven of exceptional size flew down from the thicket from which his uncles had emerged and alighted on the arm Maedhros held out for him, leaning down with his dagger-like beak in what could only be described as a kiss. Caranthir the Black cawed, hopped onto the ground and folded his lustrous night-dark wings.

 _Watching_ his uncles, their living on in the guise of animals did not seem such an extraordinary thing, which made Celebrimbor even more offended that he'd not been told sooner. “What's the other part?”

“We want you to come with us, of course.”

“No.”

Amras scowled, one of his hands curling as if he too was about to turn into some beast. “You aren't going back to Valinor.”

“Of course I'm not!” Celebrimbor had no doubt about that, though it had proved as hard as expected to explain to Eönwë that there were Exiles who still wanted to be exiles. “I want to decide for myself.”

The cat – his father – meowed loudly and once more flung himself at him, only this time he attached himself to Celebrimbor with both front and back claws in an attempt to climb him. 

“Father!” Celebrimbor shrieked in between hisses of pain. “You're killing me!”

He grabbed Curufin and gently but firmly detached him from himself. Curufin collaborated, in that he pulled his claws back and out of Celebrimbor's thigh, but immediately latched onto his shoulders once Celebrimbor lifted him to his chest. 

“You can't expect me to come with you just like this!”

Curufin meowed even louder, and attempted to bite his chin. When Celebrimbor pulled away, he settled for aggressively licking him instead.

“You followed Turco this far because you didn't want to lose the pendant your father gave you, didn't you?” Maedhros said.

“Yes, of course. But that's a completely different thing.” Celegorm nuzzled his cheek. His being able to speak the tongues of all animals now sounded like nothing more than a clever nod at his true ability. It made so much more sense now. “So that's how you stole the Silmarils.”

“Regained,” Amras corrected. “Owls don't have unclean hands, but sharp, sturdy talons for carrying prey and a knack for flying noiselessly.”

Maglor came forward, with the treacherously suave smile of when he was fed up with squabbling. “We will discuss everything later, and more calmly. Now we must be on our way.”

That was the last thing Celebrimbor remembered.

When he woke up after gods knew how long, he was in his father's old tent with Fëanor and Curufin both napping next to him. The fluffy bearskin that Celegorm had won with the first bear he killed tickled his naked skin. He was warm. The tent was cosy, and way too familiar. He took a slow, long-suffering breath. Of course Maglor had done it, though he couldn't even recall Maglor starting to sing. But it had to have been Maglor who put him to sleep. The twins were more likely to have carried him wherever they were now. Unless Maglor had turned into some beast and carried him himself.

One of the two cats stirred and crawled over his chest. Celebrimbor grabbed him at the base of his front paws and lifted him so that they were face to face.

“This is kidnapping, Father!” he protested as he gently shook the cat. “I'm sure you understand what that means.”

The cat looked nonplussed, but if Curufin's spirit resided in that body he had to understand what Celebrimbor was saying. Whether there was any way to understand what the cats said was another matter entirely. Maybe Celegorm had devised a way to talk to Fëanor before he too died. Or maybe it was quite simply possible to do it via mindspeak.

The cat headbutted his cheek. 

Celebrimbor couldn't help smiling. “You do, don't you? If we could at least have a proper conversation I wouldn't mind being here.”

He didn't terribly mind anyway, if he was completely honest. There was no way he'd ever forget his family, or stop missing them, and he would have had to live with the knowledge of what they had done all the same. Perhaps meeting them was actually better. 

“I _am_ happy that you still care so much about me though...that you would want me with you.”

He lifted the cat over and over. The cat let him do, his paws spread out but his claws at rest. 

After a time, a soft giggle came from the tent flap.

Maedhros stood there. He had discarded leather armour in favour of a pair of leggings and woollen tunic, and looked completely relaxed. “Hello.”

“Good day.” Celebrimbor greeted in a tone deliberately too formal. “Where are we?” 

“Past the Blue Mountains. It was a bit of a struggle to carry you over the passes, but the twins were happy to do it,” Maedhros responded with a wide smile. “We made it just in time, too. Beleriand sank almost completely underwater, and part of the mountains toppled too.”

Celebrimbor bit his tongue. Seeing Maedhros smile like that ignited an unexpected joy in his heart, which was hard to stifle. Still, he didn't want to give his uncle the satisfaction of sharing in his happiness, not yet. Maedhros seemed about to walk over to him, but stopped himself, perhaps sensing it.

“Are you hungry?”

“...a little,” Celebrimbor conceded.

“Dinner will be ready shortly. I will bring you your share here if you don't want to eat with us.” Maedhros turned to go. “By the way...that is Father, and you're lucky. Curvo is the smaller cat, and he doesn't like being handled like that. Your face would be a bloody mess by now.” 

Maedhros retreated, his smile even wider, and closed the flap behind him.

Celebrimbor was grateful for his tact. He let go of Fëanor, thoroughly embarrassed, murmuring, “sorry, Tata.” The carefree, enthusiastic reverence he had felt for his grandfather as a young elf hadn't wholly left him yet. His grandfather had died too soon, and it was hard to be angry at someone you spent most of your life missing. 

Fëanor didn't seem to be one whit bothered by the mix-up. He started licking Celebrimbor's face and headbutted it again, before making himself comfortable in the curious way of cats with his head pressed against Celebrimbor's cheek and a paw strewn across Celebrimbor's neck.

Curufin for his part stood up, stretched, and lay down again, his front paws on Celebrimbor's chest. His expression was the very embodiment of condescending haughtiness, feline or otherwise. 

“It doesn't end here, Father,” Celebrimbor said, and attempted to rub the top of Curufin's head.

Curufin evaded the touch of his fingers and swatted them with one paw. Then he yawned, folded both paws under his chest and calmly resumed his gloating.

Celebrimbor cradled his scratched hand. He was about to voice a protest when the tent flap rustled again.

A huge fluffy silver cat strolled in first, plopped himself down next to Curufin and started washing him. Behind Celegorm came Amras, who sat cross-legged next to Celebrimbor even though Celebrimbor glared very openly up at him as he approached. 

“I'd like to be left alone, thanks.”

“I think you'd like to learn how to talk to your father more, no? Curvo claims as much.” Amras's grin was inflammatory but also genuinely amused. “You'll see, it's not too different from getting into an elf's mind. I mean, it's the same mind, only shielded differently. We will establish a link between us, then I will turn myself into a cat and you will try to follow.”

“Well, I suppose it can't be helped, can it?” 

Amras shrugged. “You could learn to do it on your own but it'd take you a while.”

Curufin's satisfied purr reverberated through all of Celebrimbor's chest. He had his eyes half-closed in bliss as Celegorm's tongue laved the top of his head, his mouth was half-open and he didn't look quite so haughty anymore.

Celebrimbor felt a sudden impulse to laugh. The whole situation was too absurd. But then his family had always been a little absurd, and a little exasperating. “Fine, let's do this.”

**Author's Note:**

> The background for the Fëanorians' shapeshifting is the same as in [Into the Half-Light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5930580), though the verse is of course completely different.


End file.
